


love is watching someone die

by punk_rock_yuppie



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Canonical Character Death, Frottage, Infidelity, M/M, Pining, Slight Canon Divergence, Unhappy Ending, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 02:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: and I knew that you were truth I would rather losethan to have never lain beside at allRichie makes a move the first night they're in Derry.





	love is watching someone die

**Author's Note:**

> this was written in under an hour and maybe it shows but I HAD to get this out. I am potentially playing fast and loose w/ ch2's timeline bc I've only seen it once and the timeline in the film was sorta hard to follow. if there's any inconsistencies just...ignore 'em. lmao. you 
> 
> big thanks to Hannah for beta'ing, as always!! 
> 
> enjoy!

Richie shifts from foot to foot outside Eddie’s door. Tomorrow, they’re going to go to whatever it is that will help them remember—which Richie still thinks is probably bullshit, but he’s also too curious _not_ to find out—but for now, they’re all going to sleep fitfully in the stupid townhouse. Richie’s still not totally convinced they won’t just spontaneously die in the middle of the night.

Which is probably why he’s here, at Eddie’s door. _This might be my only chance_.

He raises his hand and knocks before he can chicken out. There’s a beat of silence, then the thud of feet hitting the floor and padding over to the door. It opens barely two inches, and Eddie’s sharp face peeks out. 

“Hey Eds.”

Eddie scowls. “What do you want, Richie?”

“Can’t sleep.” Richie holds up a bottle of bourbon in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. 

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “What’s the catch?”

“You gotta be around me for an hour or so.” 

The door opens wider. “Is it top shelf?” 

“Do you actually care?” Richie fires back, stepping into the room even though Eddie hasn’t actually agreed. Eddie matches his steps and backs up to give him room. Richie kicks the door shut behind him. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and holds out his hand, so Richie passes him the bottle of vodka. “Hangar 1?” Eddie murmurs, turning the bottle in his hands.

“Looked fancy and I had to use a stepstool to get it down, so.” Richie shrugs and sets about twisting the cork out of his own bottle. His palms are clammy so it takes him a few moments to get a grip but eventually he gets the bottle open with a dull _pop_. “Cheers, Eds.”

“Stop calling me that,” Eddie says before hurriedly unscrewing the cap off the vodka. Despite his disgruntled expression, he raises the bottle to _clink_ it against the bourbon. “Cheers,” he adds before taking a long swig. 

Richie arches an eyebrow as he watches Eddie pound back the vodka and when Eddie stops to arch an eyebrow at him, Richie scrambles to catch up. The bourbon hits his tongue, bitter and hot but smooth, and as long as he doesn’t think about it too hard it’s easy enough to chug. 

“Jesus, Richie, this isn’t a fucking kegger,” Eddie says. He reaches out and wraps a hand around Richie’s wrist, forcing him to put the bottle down. 

“You started it!” Richie squawks. “You went to town on that fucking vodka!” 

Eddie snickers and hiccups, putting his hand over his mouth. “Whatever, Trashmouth,” Eddie retorts. “Jesus, this was a terrible idea.”

Richie splits into a grin. “My specialty,” he says before raising the bottle again. 

They’re on the bed. Eddie is fucking _drunk_, because Richie knows he’d never be allowed on the bed otherwise. He was barely allowed in Eddie’s fucking room when they were younger—it’s been twenty-seven years since they’ve seen each other and the memories are still flooding back. But they’re on the bed together, legs almost tangled, bottles abandoned on the bedside table and far emptier than they should be.

Richie closes his eyes and lets the bliss of a drunken haze wash over him. He’s so caught up in the sensation he almost misses it when Eds starts speaking.

“It’s weird,” he says.

Richie turns onto his side. “What’s weird?” 

Eddie’s eyes are closed too. Richie takes the chance to watch his lips as they move, sluggish and thoughtful. “I missed you. But I didn’t know I was missing you until,” a hiccup, “Until I saw you again.” 

Richie’s breathing catches in his chest. “Really?”

Eddie nods. “I had no idea, like. Like all these pieces of me were missing.” He counts them off on his fingers: “Ben, Mike, Beverly, Bill, Stanley.” A hitch in his breathing, a pause, then, “You.” 

Richie swallows. “Me neither. I, I didn’t realize it either.” 

“It’s so fucking weird!” Eddie says again, louder. He still hasn’t opened his eyes. “Fuck, when I saw you at dinner, I just…” Eddie throws a hand over his face but between his fingers, Richie can see the flush on his cheeks and the grin tugging at his lips. “I couldn’t believe it was really you.” 

“Me neither,” Richie repeats, voice hushed and awed. “I couldn’t believe it was you.” 

Eddie finally opens his eyes and lets his hand drop to his chest. He turns his head slightly to look up at Richie and says, once more, “I missed you.” 

Richie doesn’t think; he just leans down. 

Eddie squeaks into the kiss but his hand finds Richie’s hair and instead of shoving him away, Eds tugs him closer. Richie melts into the kiss that’s barely begun; he sinks into it and moans quietly when Eddie’s mouth parts for him. It’s hot and wet, tastes like vodka and bourbon—a less than pleasant combo, but all that matters is it’s Eddie underneath Richie and he’s squirming and whining and kissing him _back_. 

“Rich,” Eddie gasps when the kiss breaks. “Richie,” he pants. 

“I’m here, yeah, I’m here, Eds.” Richie moves with clumsy, booze-heavy limbs to situate himself between Eddie’s thighs. He doesn’t hesitate, despite the fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins, doesn’t hesitate to grind his hips forward against Eddie’s.

“Oh, fuck!” Eddie cries out, throwing his head back. His hips jump to meet Richie’s. Despite Eddie’s silk pajama bottoms and Richie’s jeans, there’s no ignoring the heat of their erections pressed together. Eddie hitches a leg over Richie’s hip and the heel of his foot digs against Richie’s ass to get him impossibly closer. “Oh, fuck, _Richie._”

“Christ,” Richie gasps and dives forward for another kiss. Eddie leans up to meet him part way and it’s filthy and sloppy—it’s a drunk fucking kiss but it’s the best thing Richie’s ever felt in his god damn life. He ruts forward, his knees slipping on the sheets; he wants to get impossibly closer to Eddie but there’s too many clothes in the way, too many uncoordinated limbs. 

“Richie, Richie, Richie,” Eddie gasps. “Back up, hang on.”

Richie rears back like he’s been burned and opens his mouth to apologize, but Eddie grins at him. It’s a _flirty_ grin, something Richie’s only ever briefly seen when Eddie is drunk enough to be brave. Richie has a split second of guilt—they’re too far gone for this, it’s a terrible idea—but then Eddie starts to unbutton his silk pajama top and all rational thoughts fly from Richie’s head. 

Eddie shrugs out of the shirt and drops it over the edge of the bed. “Richie, c’mon, now you.”

Richie tries to get out of his shirt so fast he gets tangled in it. It’s as he’s got his head caught in the collar that he hears Eddie’s laughing, and then gentle hands are helping him, untangling his arms from the sleeves and tugging the collar over his head. Eddie tosses the shirt aside and then runs his hands over Richie’s shoulders. 

“Eddie,” Richie breathes. “Fuck.” He’s stricken. The feeling of Eddie’s hands roaming greedily over his body are new and dazzling—a feeling he’s wanted for so long he can’t quite believe it’s _happening_.

Eddie murmurs something and Richie doesn’t quite catch it but then they’re kissing again, and Eddie’s hands are wandering to the button of Richie’s jeans. Richie shivers as the button comes undone, then the zipper comes down, and then Eddie’s hand is bold against his cock over his boxers. 

“Eddie, shit,” Richie whimpers.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “Yeah, Richie.” 

It’s nonsensical and hot and slick and perfect. Eddie strokes him over his boxers and the friction is almost unbearable until Eddie relents and draws his cock out from the slit. Eddie’s hand leaves him and Richie lets out an anguished grunt, one that makes Eddie grin. His gaze is foggy but his hands are quick and sure as he tugs down the waistband of his pajama pants.

His cock springs forward and slaps against his stomach. 

“C’mon, get closer,” Eddie urges. He tightens his leg around Richie’s hip and Richie falls forward. He braces one elbow on the bed and falls into another kiss with Eddie. He licks into Eddie’s mouth and memorizes the feeling of Eddie’s tongue against his own. He nearly bites Eddie’s tongue when a hand wraps around his and Eddie’s cocks but leans back to shout his pleasure instead.

“You’re so loud.” Eddie’s laughing as he quickly jerks them both off. “Of course you’re fucking loud.” 

Richie doesn’t have a retort—it’s too overwhelming. He bows his head and presses his cheek to Eddie’s, panting against his neck as Eddie works an expert hand over them both. Richie wants to ask how Eddie is so good at this, how he knows the perfect way to twist his wrist, to thumb at the spot under the head of Richie’s cock that makes his legs buckle. 

“Missed you,” Eddie gasps into Richie’s ear before biting at the lobe. 

Richie whines and nips at Eddie’s jaw. “M’gonna come, Eds.”

“Don’t fucking call me, asshole.” Eddie turns and catches Richie’s lip in a loose kiss. “But I want you to come.”

Richie shudders. “Fuck, how do you—?”

Eddie twists his hand again and shocks of pleasure cut off whatever Richie could’ve said. His entire train of thought goes off the rails and all he can manage to do is moan against Eddie’s lips, hips bucking and chasing the friction of Eddie’s hand.

“Do it, Richie, c’mon.” 

Eddie’s grip tightens just slightly and Richie comes with a wet gasp, tears pricking at his eyes, come spilling across Eddie’s cock and his fingers and onto his bare stomach. Eddie gasps too and his eyes flutter and Richie’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

Eddie works him through the aftershocks until Richie leans back, twitching with oversensitivity. He goes up on his knees and looks at Eddie, thoroughly debauched. Eddie grins, definitely still buzzed.

“What, you wanna watch?” Eddie taunts.

Richie shakes his head and opens his mouth but guilt and fear keep the words in his throat. Eddie’s expression softens but before the mood can shift, Richie scrambles down the bed to take Eddie’s cock into his mouth instead. 

Eddie yelps, loud enough that there’s no way the other Losers didn’t hear, and knots both hands in Richie’s curls. 

Richie lets the hot weight of Eddie’s cock relax him; he hasn’t done this often but the times he has, he’s loved. This is even better, because it’s _Eddie_ . Eddie who is so different in bed than Richie would’ve ever thought. He remembers being a teenager and thinking Eddie would be shy, uncertain, let Richie do all the work. Maybe Eddie _is_ like that in bed, when he’s not drunk on three quarters of a bottle of vodka. Richie doesn’t really care. 

“Richie, not gonna last,” Eddie moans. He thrusts against Richie’s mouth even though he’s already in to the hilt. He’s whimpering and whining, all bitten-off swears and groans of Richie’s name and it’s like a fucking symphony that Richie’s waited his whole god damn life to hear. 

Eddie’s moans stop on a dime and quick glance up shows Eddie’s mouth moving but no sound coming out; his head thrashes from side to side as his moans turn to breathless rasps like his orgasm is going to fucking choke him. 

Richie pulls back just enough so the first spurt of come hits his tongue, bitter and gross but Richie _needs_ it. He sinks back down and swallows and Eddie shrieks as his cock continues to pulse, spilling the rest of his load down Richie’s throat. 

Eddie shoves gently at Richie’s face when it’s too much, and Richie pulls back licking his lips. Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”

Richie just grins. 

Richie wakes the next morning to Eddie staring at him with wide eyes. A sense of dread fills Richie’s gut along with a healthy helping of bile. _Maybe it’s just the hangover_ , Richie thinks briefly. Except Eddie looks _terrified_. He looks scared and apologetic and confused, and guilt wraps around Richie’s heart like a vice.

“It’s no big deal, Eds.” Richie nods over his shoulder to where the abandoned bottles of booze sit. “Just some fun, yeah? Something to pass the time.” 

Richie doesn’t wait for a response as he rolls out of bed. He takes a moment to right his rumpled boxers and tugs his jeans up so he can button them, then he starts to hunt for his shirt. Eddie is silent the entire time, even once Richie has his shirt on and is standing awkwardly near the bedroom door.

Richie wants to say something, anything that might get Eddie to fucking talk to him, but in the end, he can’t think of a thing. So he just nods, turns on his heel, and leaves.

Things revert almost back to normal until they go back to fucking Neibolt, and Eddie freezes up when the fucking Spider Stan Head Thing is fucking trying to _kill_ Richie. Richie doesn’t even have the energy to be mad after; he watches Bill yell at Eddie, but he’s more concerned with getting the slime out of his mouth before he vomits again. 

Richie wants to be angry, after. He wants to be mad that Eddie got so scared he would’ve let Richie _die_. But he can’t bring himself to do it. So he forgives him. 

Richie’s still dazed from the deadlights. Eddie is standing over him, cheering and excited, yelling something about hurting Pennywise. The lights illuminate him and cast gaunt shadows over his face but Richie isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Eddie so delighted, so happy. Richie’s heart pounds and he thinks of the night at the townhouse and he thinks of being in love with this dumbass since they were kids and he thinks, _I should tell him. I should kiss him, and I should tell him, and—_

And then the claw goes through Eddie’s chest, right in the dead center. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from what sarah said by death cab for cutie
> 
> ([reblog this if you liked it!!](https://punk-rock-yuppie.tumblr.com/post/187562798141/love-is-watching-someone-die-reddie))


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